P-T-R-P: EP 19 Shivani Sen

SERIES: People That R' Poets

‌This Series will focus on Highlighting Poets from a diverse set of backgrounds to provide a space to showcase their work!

As this season of the series draws to a close, we at Poetically-Perplexed hope you have found that each poem, each poet has added their truth to the world and in someway adds whatever value you find in their words and their stories.

For this space aims to provide people from all walks of life an opportunity to not just showcase their work but also give readers a greater insight into creative exploration through the collective exchange of stories from each

Human Artist, Each Creative Being.

THE POET : Shivani Sen

Shivani Sen is a writer from New Delhi, India, with To the Homes that We Are as her debut poetry collection.

Shivani has trained in Hindustani classical vocals and dance which have served as a medium for her creativity and inspiration. With over 2 decades of experience in the classical arts, Shivani’s debut collection draws heavily from these forms as she tries to capture the essence of the ‘unsaid' through her work.

Adding to her pursuits, Shivani is also an illustrator and pianist. She currently resides in London after graduating from the London School of Economics and Political Science and works in the charity sector, helping people with dementia. 

The book spans Shivani’s work over a decade, from fourteen to twenty-four, engaging in coming-of-age experiences, and further into the fields of spirituality, community, meditation, grief and healing. The book is available on Amazon worldwide. 

THE POEM :

In travelling the path to all that we want to achieve,
Sometimes I think about all the feelings we cross but never notice.

Like mountains cradling sunsets that we ignore on journeys
when the path ahead is getting darker,

or the burning orange of the sky that we pass by
as we search for new direction.

On these roads, maybe there was a glimmer of nostalgia
or a house of relief that we never entered.

Because in glorifying the long walks that we tread,
somewhere, we become slaves to the speed at which we blaze ahead.

But a journey is only a journey if we rest to marvel at the shifting skies.

All too consumed with the impatience to arrive,
we might reach the finish line too soon
with nothing to remember life by.

No feeling to say we parked ourselves in,
while marvelling at the mountains we climbed,
and the tenacity we carried within.